


Impatience Is A Virtue

by vesuviannights



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, LOUD cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms, plus size reader, semi-public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 03:16:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20369785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: After you deliberately dress to tease and taunt Asra at a party the two of you are hosting, the magician finally corners you and drags you into a secluded spot to have his way with you. Featuring semi-public, some incredibly loud cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, Asra just being wonderful and giving so much praise and adoring you.





	Impatience Is A Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon request on my Tumblr (@vesuviannights). Anon requested "a plus size fem!MC with Asra".

Asra has been eyeing you all night.

He is not subtle.

He is not apologetic.

And it is very, very clear by the shadows in his eyes exactly what he plans to take from you the moment you are within reach of his twitching fingers, or—if he grows desperate enough—simply out of the line of sight of your lingering guests.

You—stupidly, somewhat smugly—think you are safe, planning your way around the party, never moving without talking to someone, staying in the well-lit areas of your home. All so he has no chance at getting you alone, and so that he has every chance of having to watch every glorious inch of you in the outfit you had planned especially for him as you stretch your arms above your head, tilt your head to expose your neck, roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

There is a thrill affecting every nerve in your body at your teasing, at watching him prowl after you with an increasing bulge in his pants and a decreasing patience, as though the 3 hours it will take for the party to die off and everyone to leave is simply too long for him, and he is struggling more and more with each passing moment.

The magician has always enjoyed delayed gratification.

Just not when it comes to you.

He finally, _finally_ corners you—or more, pulls you away with a growl—as you approach Julian to ask about your plans later that week.

Asra shoves you into the washroom just off from your sitting room, slamming the door and locking it with a faint purple hush of magic that, to your growing excitement and terror, seems to do nothing for volume control. 

“I hate you.” He groans into your lips, grabbing hold of as much fabric as he can. “My sultry minx, my terribly torturous delight—”

And he pulls _tight_. You can feel it cutting into the bulge of your hips, the backs of your shoulders, your trembling thighs.

“I should have known you were planning something,” he breathes into you. “You have _never_ been so mean as to pass up a chance to let me colour coordinate our outfits.” 

You smirk against his lips, already done playing innocent. “I wasn’t planning anything. I refused to tell you because colour coordinating is lame.”

“It’s _stylish_. And _you_, are a lying little mynx.”

You make a _mmhmm_ noise, his lips already moving down your neck to the large swell of your breasts, hands brushing aside fabric to take hold of your waist and pull you in closer. His fingertips press into your fat, leaving bruises in their attempts to take more of you, to feel all of you, to sate his ravenous hunger.

Somehow, he has already manoeuvred you into losing the top half of your clothes, and also into being pressed back against the cool tile of the wall. He gives a wicked grin—pointedly ignoring your unamused and slightly impressed look—as he begins to trail kisses down your neck and over your shoulders and breasts.

And then he is on his knees, a place you would both argue without question is his favourite. Here, he can pull on more of your clothes, kiss each roll and bulge of your stomach as it is revealed, leaving little bite marks and damp spots from every open-mouthed kiss.

“Every part of you is so wondrous,” he groans, and you let out a whimper of your own as he licks a trail from your lower abdomen through to your belly button. “You own every pair of eyes in every fucking room you enter and it drives me _wild. _How? How do you do that? And how am I so gods-dammed lucky to be able to please you every chance you allow me?”

You smirk down at him, rolling your hips toward his touch. And it is _ravenous_, lips brushing every inch of skin they can find, fingers pulling at every piece of fabric so he can get a little closer to you a little faster. When he grows impatient with all the folds of the fabric flowing over your body, he growls and you feel the familiar tingle of his magic as he makes it all fall off onto the floor, now a mere puddle at your feet.

“I think you mean every chance you_ stalk _me for,” you murmur. He presses his face into your pussy, inhaling the scent of you with a delighted little purr. 

“I can’t help it when you always look like such a snack.”

“You could have waited until the party was over.”

He tilts his head up then, a dimple popping through as he gives you a lopsided grin. “But I’m hungry now.”

He kisses back up your now completely bare body, his hands and lips and tongue all just as greedy for you as they were on the descent. When his lips are back to yours, he guides you with a practised dance to sit and lay back on the raised step that boarders the sunken-in bathtub. Your back presses into a plush rug that you are sure was not there this morning, or even at the beginning of the party, and you have to admire his ability to plan ahead even when his impatience and greed for you are running rampant in his mind.

There, with you sighing at the softness of the rug, he settles himself at your feet and places a kiss to the inside of each of your knees. 

There, he presses them together and pushes them up.

There, he eyes you as the movement reveals your gloriously aching and wet pussy to him, and his shoulders roll in delight before he leans down to begin his feast.

His tongue licks a single, clean line right up your seam that has you immediately crying out. It moves in practised and knowing swipes, having tasted every inch of you a thousand times before and never seeming to tire, as though each time brought new delight and taught him something new about how to make you scream.

The tip of his tongue flicks out against your clit, and when you slam a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from crying out again, he laughs.

“Oh, you’re no fun,” he murmurs, a pouting lilt to his voice before he repeats the action. You whimper, the noise stifled by your hand. “Won’t you let me hear all those wonderful noises when I’m working so hard?”

As he waits for your answer, he lets your knees fall to each side, exposing you to his lust-hazed eyes as he sweeps his tongue between your folds. He finds your gaze, locking you there with his own as he carefully slip a finger into you, crooking it with slow and taunting motions that have you pressing your hips against him for more.

He shakes his head, a devilish glint coming to his eyes as he slips the finger out. He grins as you cry out in protest, beginning to climb up your body once again. His hands press into your thigh and hip to steady himself, giving affectionate little squeezes to every roll and inch of fat he finds there. 

“No more until you give me my reward,” he murmurs into your breast. He swirls his tongue around a taut nipple before closing his mouth around it, suckling gently as he waits for your answer. 

You groan out in frustration, pulling your hand away long enough to say, “Isn’t your reward simply me? As the snack that I am?”

He laughs into your breast, grazing his teeth over your nipple as he pulls his mouth off it.

“I think I would rather enjoy a little more incentive.” 

He rolls his hips, the hard length of his cock, the friction of the cloth of his pants, rubbing against you in the most exquisite way. Your world explodes in black spots as he presses into just the right place and you keen against him, already desperate and forgetting your resolve as you attempt to shove him back down to where you need his mouth to be.

“Oh?” He asks. He gives a little, shuffling down until his mouth is at your stomach. He kisses you there, waiting with a deceptively innocent expression and arched brow. 

“I’ll do anything you want!” You gasp out as he slips his finger back into your aching pussy, crooking with that same barely-there motion. “Just put your mouth back and make me come!”

And it’s the answer he has been searching for all along.

He is back on you in an instant, his finger pressing a little deeper inside of you before a second joins it, the two curling and scissoring and stretching you apart. His tongue and lips work at you like a starved man, making the absolute filthiest noises as he licks and suckles and groans into your pussy.

“_Gods_ you taste so good, so fucking good my love—”

His moans and the wet sounds of his feast echo off the bathroom walls, almost completely blocking out the sounds of party chatter filtering in underneath the door.

You come apart too easily, hands pale-knuckled and dug tight into his hair, hips pressing up and down and any way they can to seek more of his touch as you scream out his name.

Your thighs tense and melt, trapping his head and releasing it over and over as each wave hits you, as he continues to suckle and sweep your arousal up with his greedy tongue until you soften and sink back into the step.

Only, he doesn’t stop when you do.

Even once your body is lax, even when the walls of your pussy have stopped fluttering around his fingers, he is still moving, his lips latching onto your clit and mercilessly sucking.

His fingers slip out of you and he ignores your confused cries of protest as he slides both hands under your ass and tilts your hips, pinning you to his face as he feasts on you without a chance of reprieve or escape.

He moans into you as you come apart a second time, keening and babbling and crying out his name, always his name, low and a little choked and begging for more. 

You almost sob when he keeps going. Your fingertips, tangled so tight in his hair, loosen a little to try to push him away but he refuses to move, lapping and drinking up every drop of arousal that comes from your spent pussy until you stop trying to push, and when your third orgasm arrives, it is only with soft sighs and hooded eyes and a whimper that barely escapes your throat. 

He comes back up your body the same way he went down, a kiss to every roll, to the swell of each breast. He grinds softly against your thigh as he kisses you, sweeping his tongue into your mouth to share the taste of your arousal with you. 

“Our guests will wonder where we are,” he murmurs against your lips. You make a vague noise of agreement, and he grins down at you, a mischievous gleam in his gaze. “Are you no longer interested in attending?” 

You curse at him, but it’s a mumble and its less than half-hearted and you’re grinning while you do, so there is almost no point to it. Giving you one final kiss, he pushes to his feet and offers you a hand to help you to the same.

And it’s everything gods-damned thing you can do while pulling your clothes back on, while he watches you with a hooded gaze as he palms himself through his trousers, not to step out and scream at your guests to _fucking leave_ so you can drag him upstairs.


End file.
